I pulled my Mustang into Uncle Bryant’s drive. Or rather, my own drive since he willed it to me, and probate was finally settled. Fishing the house keys from my pocket, I opened the front door. Strange being here alone. “Hello,” I cried to make things seem more normal, as I walked around the one-story home. I had often visited, as my parents lived only a few blocks away. I recalled their many date nights when I stayed with my bachelor uncle. We’d play cards and watch action videos. He had even taught me how to cook. Even though the place had a little dust from long disuse, it was neat and appealing. I glanced at the basement door leading to the only part of the house that was still a mystery. I once asked why the door was locked.
“That’s where I keep the treasure… and the bodies,” he teased, snarling and glaring at me. I remember the look even now. I laughed because I hoped it was a joke, but shivered a little inside. It’s my house now, and maybe there is some treasure.
At the top of the stairs, I flipped the light switch. I was not that surprised that below the dusty steps, the subterranean room stretched out the whole size of the house. I walked around the uncluttered room, glancing at tools on shelves and hanging above the thick wooden workbench. To my left stood a gas furnace connected to ducts that serviced the entire house. Behind that, a tankless water heater shared a stainless-steel flue with the heater.
On the opposite wall was a heavy-duty iron-clad door. Is this where his hidden treasure rests? My smile turned to a grimace. If the treasure was real, maybe the bodies were real, too. For a moment, I stood like a statue, weighing my two choices—open the door or leave it a mystery. Hell with it. I pulled keyrings from my pocket; first, the one with my car and apartment keys, then the other. A large brass key, stamped with “Master Lock,” appeared. It slid easily into the large padlock. I turned it and removed the device from the hasp.
“Here goes nothing,” I said aloud, to push back the dead silence that was beginning to freak me out. I opened the door a few inches. The sweet-smelling air gave me courage. It didn’t smell like a crypt or even the slaughterhouse I once visited with a friend to ask his dad something. I opened the door on well-oiled hinges. No light switches. No torches or candelabras like in a Frankenstein movie or The Phantom of the Opera. Only a single black flashlight hung on the wall. I lifted the heavy cylinder from the rusty hook to test it. I adjusted the narrow, super-bright beam to a broader search light.
The Tunnel, which I gave a formal name, seemed to go on forever. Didn’t the neighboring houses have basements, too? I walked a few feet, then checked behind me to be certain the door was still there. After doing this several times, I chided myself for being such a chicken. I’ve done scarier things before. Just do it. After many more steps in which I refused to check behind me, I heard a noise further down the tunnel. Barely audible at first, the screechy, scratchy, clicking sounds rose as I adjusted my lens to a narrow beam. Monsters. Small toothy creatures running toward me, crawling over each other, sometimes murderously so, like wild dogs in a frenzy. There were thousands.
I turned and ran for my life. Standing to fight would mean certain, painful death. The voices and clattering footsteps amplified, but I was too afraid to turn to look as I pumped my legs faster.
I had enough sense to know that once I got through the door, I needed to close it. At last, it appeared in my bouncing beam. The voices behind me grew louder. A cloyingly sweet odor began to fill my nostrils as the sensation of warmth assaulted the back of my sweating neck and arms. I jumped through the open doorway, turned to see a crowd of monsters just a few yards away, and slammed my body against the rust-stained iron. Panting, I held one hand against my aching side.
Many creatures thudded against the door. The sound of fighting, screaming, wailing, and feeding followed. The door had latched when I closed it, but I kept my weight against it until I heard the audible click of the padlock.
I stood there silently for several minutes until the shaking stopped and the horrible vision I had witnessed began to fade. I’ll probably have nightmares the rest of my life. Why hadn’t my uncle prepared me for this? Why hadn’t he called the authorities? No one would believe him, anyway. It’d just invite curiosity. Pitying my future heirs, I thought to extend the basement wall inward by a foot or so to cover the door. No one would know it was there or suspect what horrors lay behind it. I considered again who I should report the incident. No one. Countless numbers of these creatures may now be camped out behind the door. It must never be opened again.
Captivating narrative